


The Witcher Wolf 2: Geralt's POV

by im_fairly_witty



Series: The Witcher Wolf [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Geralt learns to use his words and talk about his feelings by losing the ability to do either, Happy Ending, Jaskier accidentally gets an emotional support animal, Jaskier gets to talk about his feelings and Geralt finally has to listen, M/M, Protective!Geralt, actual!wolf Geralt, because those are the rules in this house, hurt comfort, meanwhile Geralt learns several hard and very much needed lessons in a row, mostly in chapter two because geralt does a lot more protecting than Jaskier realizes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_fairly_witty/pseuds/im_fairly_witty
Summary: It's been two weeks since Geralt drove Jaskier away from him on that mountain top and Geralt's been doing his best not to think about it by accepting every contract he comes across. But when a job goes badly he find himself cursed into the form of an injured wolf and is then saved by none other than Jaskier himself, who has no idea that the animal he's taken under his wing is his own witcher.Geralt must now try to alert Jaskier to his real situation and adjust to his new life traveling with the bard, learning several hard but very much needed lessons along the way.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher Wolf [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646005
Comments: 140
Kudos: 4100
Collections: Geralt is Sorry





	1. Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for your lovely support and comments on part one! I was going to make part two another oneshot but it keeps getting longer and it feel right to break it into two chapters so here you are, extra content for you all. :) 
> 
> I wanted to try to focus on scenes that happened inbetween the ones in Jaskier's POV so be sure to go back and read that one if you havn't already so you can see where the timelines weave through each other.

“Good girl Roach, good girl.” Geralt said, panting as he patted the horse’s neck, leaning heavily against her side.

The mare tossed her head, ears still twitching nervously toward the massive carcass toppled in the middle of their camp. Geralt’s eyes stung as the cat elixir slowly wore off, but he could still see faint wisps of steam rising from the hot spilt blood into the cold night air.

Geralt heaved another deep breath and pushed himself off Roach, straightening his back with a crack as he tiredly made his way to the felled creature to get a closer look now that the ugly thing wasn't lunging for his jugular.

And it really was quite ugly, some twisted amalgamation that could have been part boar judging by the tusks, part griffon by the sleek winged body, perhaps even part spider by the dozens of glossy jet-black eyes scattered across its face. At first glance in the dark he’d thought it might have been a fiend, but that assumption hadn’t lasted more than an instant.

At Geralt’s age it was very rare for him to see a creature he didn’t know the name of and even rarer for it to ambush him in his own campsite. He didn’t like to think how close a call it had really been this time, he was lucky he’d already been preparing for the hunt or else it might have been him lying on the ground. Geralt had been accepting any contract he saw for the last two weeks ever since the dragon hunt, eager to get his mind off...things...but with this one he’d assumed the villager’s descriptions had been laced with exaggeration.

They quite clearly hadn’t.

“It reeks of magic.” Geralt said to Roach, placing a boot on the monster’s side and heaving it over with a hefty shove. “Whatever it is, it didn’t come about naturally, that’s for sure. But not something that’s been cursed either I think. I’d wager this was some lunatic’s pet project, magically bred from the start.”

“More pet than project, I can assure you.”

Geralt spun, his sword unsheathed and leveled in an instant, his sword tip pointed at the man who’d appeared at the edge of the clearing behind him. And he must have literally appeared out of thin air, otherwise Geralt’s heightened witcher senses would have detected him a mile off in this state, the dregs of his hunting potions still flowing through him.

“Care to elaborate?” Geralt asked warily, shifting his stance slightly as Roach wisely startled away from them, taking cover in the thick trees beyond the clearing.

The man wore what looked like two expensive outfits of very different and clashing styles mixed into one ensemble, all useless ornamentation and rich textures in swathes of periwinkle and burnt orange. Laced in between were chains dripping with bones, trinkets, and what looked suspiciously like human fingers. Geralt wasn’t sure at all how the man managed even to move in such a cluttered get-up, but his frantically humming medallion was more than enough to let him know that the man wouldn’t _have_ to move at all in order to pose a deadly threat. That and the fact that the man’s scent matched the slain creature’s.

“I’d say the time for elaboration is far past.” The man said, something between anger and grief coloring his voice.

Geralt blinked and the man was kneeling beside the creature, stroking its bristly gold hide as if it were a beloved housecat. Geralt’s too-slow heartbeat picked up a bit at that show of speed, he hadn’t even seen the man move at all.

“You a mage?” Geralt asked, trying to cast his mind back to if he’d ever seen Yennifer display the same ability, but each mage’s favorite tricks seemed to be determined more by their personal style rather than any one curriculum.

“Don’t be crass.” The man said, squinting hatefully at Geralt. “I have far too much self respect to be counted among those political chess players. I much prefer caring for my pets, like poor Truskawka here who you’ve _slaughtered_. Do you have any idea how many generations it’s taken to perfect her bloodline? And now look at my poor strawberry, cut down in cold blood, just before she was about to have a litter too.”

“Your poor strawberry weighs four tons and has been disemboweling travelers for weeks now.” Geralt said dryly. “Should have kept her on a shorter leash if you really cared for her.”

“I’m not about to take advice on caring from _you_ White Wolf.” The man said, looking Geralt right in the eyes in a way that made a sticky cold feeling drip down his spine. “Your kind only know how to _harm_.”

With a certain collection of songs ragingly popular across the continent it wasn’t unusual for Geralt to be recognized by his medallion and white hair alone, but he had a creeping feeling that somehow this man didn’t know his moniker because of a tavern tune. He also had the feeling that he somehow knew more about him than just his title.

“So if you’re not a mage then what are you?” Geralt asked, raising his sword a bit, quickly tiring of this increasingly unsettling conversation.

“Angry.” The man said, glaring at Geralt and snapping his fingers in a blinding flash of white light.

***

Geralt was no stranger to passing out in battle—it was something you got used to when you made a profession of competing with monsters to see who could lose the most blood last—but he had never woken up running before.

At first he thought he was dreaming as he slowly filtered back to consciousness, his senses gradually coming back to him as air whipped past him, a dirt road under his feet, but suddenly everything clicked back into place and he skidded to a stop. His chest heaved as he looked around, blinking hard to try and get the last tendrils of grogginess out of his mind.

The sorcerer. He growled as he scented the air, remembering what had knocked him unconscious.

The first rays of sunlight were starting to scrape up across the grey clouds on the horizon, signaling a dawn that meant he must have been wandering blindly for hours by now. The blasted magician must have hit him with some unusually strong spell to disorient him like that, most magic simply rolled off a witcher, but the man had seemed extremely upset at his “pet” having been dispatched. Geralt just had to hurry his way back before he-

Geralt stumbled as he took a step forward, his legs suddenly feeling strangely uncoordinated. He fell on his face, rolling onto his shoulder with a growl that suddenly sounded entirely different than his usual ones.

He looked at his hands and blinked in shock at the large white paws he found instead. He twisted around to get a look at the rest of him...

...only to see the massive white furred body of a wolf.

Geralt sat frozen in the middle of the dirt road, feeling his ears swivel back in canine shock as he struggled to process his discovery.

Well. He’d been right about it being a strong spell he’d been hit with.

A _very_ strong spell.

Geralt got to his (four) feet and shook himself, wincing only momentarily at how disarmingly full bodied the shake was. He was a witcher, he’d seen hundreds of transformations far more gruesome and unsettling than this. He could handle a sorcerer with a sense of irony, he just had to find him and either barter or threaten his way to a cure. 

He sniffed the air, nose...er... _snout_ scrunching at how different it felt. He seemed to still have his unnaturally sharp witcher senses, which was a relief, but it still felt different. Somehow. Like...like when he had to buy a new riding saddle. It was still technically a saddle, but different feeling all the same. 

He snorted at his own metaphor, the noise coming out in a huffing sneeze. He could practically feel Jaskier’s laughter at both his metaphor clumsiness and at him discovering in that moment that wolves did not roll their eyes, his head instead tipping up and to the side a bit when he tried.

_Leave the metaphors to me Geralt, can’t have you putting me out of business with your unprecedented lexical brilliance._

Geralt huffed again, ears flicking back at imaginary Jaskier’s teasing. He scented the air again, searching for the sorcerer’s scent as he did his best not to think about the bard, where he was, or if he was safe. Something he’d gotten in the habit of trying very hard not to think about for the last two weeks.

Besides, he told himself yet again as he trotted down the road, following his own scent trail back the way he’d come, in the end it really was for the best that they’d split up. Jaskier was always _annoying_ him and getting in the way, and...playing that lute _incessantly_...and...and getting hurt...and...

Geralt’s ear flicked as he heard footsteps approach and he lifted his head to see several men emerge from the woods. They were laughing and chatting amongst themselves, armed with bows and arrows, one had a brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder. An early morning hunting party returning from a successful forage no doubt.

They seemed harmless enough. Being a witcher meant Geralt had built up a sense for what people would end up causing him trouble or not, and with these men he could easily just-

Wait. No.

Geralt remembered the vitally important and brand-new piece of his daily social puzzle an instant too late, and one of the men spotted him.

“Wolf!” The man shouted, knocking an arrow at his bow with expert speed.

Geralt threw himself sideways into the bushes, hearing the whistling hiss and _thwack_ of an arrow lancing into the dirt where he’d stood. He gathered up his limbs as quickly as he could and dashed into the undergrowth, pelting away from the road and the hunters.

He bared his teeth at himself as he ran. Stupid stupid _stupid_. He was a _wolf_ , an animal. Had he really subconsciously assumed the men might simply ignore him with uneasy sideways glances like they did normally?

People barely tolerated him when he could speak, there was going to be no thin mercy or stiff civility extended to him in this state. He didn’t even have weapons to fight back with. No elixirs or magic signs or even opposable thumbs to save him now. If he didn’t find the sorcerer soon he was going to-

A white hot pain slammed into his shoulder, sending him tumbling into the bushes and sliding haphazardly down a rocky embankment. He gritted down a yelp of pain as he slammed against boulders at the bottom of the dry streambed, decades of training pushing him down and close to the deepest shadows of the boulders as he forced his frantic breathing quieter.

“I think I hit ‘em!” A voice shouted from above. “Dunno where the bastard went, but I swear I hit ‘em.”

“You? Hitting a running wolf?” Another voice guffawed, the bushes rustling. “Your head’s gotten too big from your flask.”

“Shove off, didn’t I get two rabbits this morning?”

“Only because one was old enough to practically roll over on your boots.”

Geralt’s ears twitched as the laughing voices slowly moved away, the sound of crashing brush receding as the hunters took their conversation back to the main road.

As his adrenaline started to ebb Geralt could feel the pain in his shoulder far more clearly, the burning ache creeping across him as he turned to get his first look at it in the growing light of the morning. He knew it was an arrow, had had arrows in him before, but it still didn’t make it much easier to see the blasted thing sprouting from his shoulder.

Especially since he was realizing with a sinking feeling that he had no idea how he was going to get it out.

He could feel a doggish whine spring to his lips as he pushed himself to his feet and accidentally put weight on his bad foreleg, but he choked it back out of habit. He was still in the middle of nowhere with enemies nearby, he couldn’t do anything to further expose himself to danger until he was somewhere safe.

Geralt felt his tail tuck between his legs a little as he looked around, scenting the unfamiliar air. There was certainly no chance of him getting back up the steep embankment, it was going to be enough of a chore to even walk at all across even the uneven rocky stream bed.

He had no way to get back to the sorcerer, no medical supplies, no equipment or way to get to a town where he would be able to find any of those things. Not in this state.

He grit his teeth as he forced himself to take an unsteady step forward. He was a _witcher_ , he could do this. He’d survived this long, hadn’t he? All he had to do was focus on surviving one more hour, and then one more hour after that. That’s how he was going to get through this. 

It took some doing to figure out walking on three legs after only having just managed with four, but soon Geralt had picked up an unsteady pace that was getting him across the riverbed in search of cover. He was going to survive this, he was going to be fine.

***

Geralt had now gone three days with that bloody arrow in his shoulder and had long since stopped pretending that things were going to be fine.

He’d managed to wander his way out of the stream bed, had managed to narrowly avoid some drowners he normally could have dispatched without breaking a sweat, and had managed to chew off half the arrow shaft in his exhausted frustration at not being able to treat his own stupid wound which had definitely only made things worse for himself.

Not that he really cared too much anymore though, because at this point he’d logically thought through his situation and had begun coming to terms with the fact that this was was how it ended for Geralt of Rivia. As a wolf he was completely cut off from both outside help and being able to help himself. No one would come looking for a witcher who had last been seen two weeks ago, he’d gone long months before without seeing acquaintances.

He curled up a little tighter in the clearing he’d settled in a few hours ago, the never-ending pain in his shoulder dully pulsing along with his heartbeat. He knew his witcher mutagens were valiantly fighting back infection as well as they could, but he wasn’t invincible. After three days with a wound that kept opening and bleeding around the arrow shaft he knew it was probably only a matter of hours before something deep and deadly finally set in, and that would be the end of it.

The only silver lining he’d been able to find was that as a wolf four days without food or water hadn’t taken the same toll it normally would have. Not that it kept him from forlornly scenting the prey animals that trailed through the brush around him, maddingly close and completely out of reach.

Geralt stared at the ground, head resting on his useless wolf paws.

He missed Roach, having been unable to stop worrying about her being left alone in the woods with the psychopath who’d cursed him. Hopefully she’d at least stayed far enough away that he’d ignored her.

And he missed Jaskier.

Geralt let out a long whine, having given up being quiet a day or two ago. He never liked to admit it to himself, but as the years had gone by Geralt had come to enjoy his times traveling alone less and less.

As gruffly as he treated his bard sometimes he always felt more lonely than usual whenever they parted ways, somehow missing the man’s incessant prattling and singing and bothering and smiling and interfering. There was no way to count how many wounds Jaskier had stitched up for Geralt over the last twenty-two years too. His careful, even stitching and gentle chastising left far less of a scar than Geralt’s rough and hasty work always did.

And now the last time he ever saw his bard would be that awful day on the mountain, something that still made his stomach sour whenever he accidentally forgot _not_ to think about it. Of the way Jaskier’s face had fallen. Of the immediate regret Geralt had felt, but that he’d smothered down under his anger. Of the way he hadn’t immediately tracked Jaskier back down the mountain when the bard hadn’t returned by the next morning.

Because for the first time Jaskier had actually left after Geralt had snapped at him. And how could Geralt follow after him if he’d really left?

But it didn’t matter anymore, because-

Geralt startled into a surprised snarl as his flagging senses warned him of danger too late, his attacker already nearly falling on top of him. He lurched painfully to the side, a shot of adrenaline coursing through him as he spun to see...

...Jaskier?

Geralt blinked in shock as Jaskier tumbled to the ground across the small clearing from him, yelling and clutching at his lute like a shield, looking as surprised at Geralt was.

“Sorry, very terribly sorry to bother you.” Jaskier said weakly, smelling of fear. “I was trying to find someplace to camp and I was wandering and wasn’t looking where I was going and I didn’t mean- Really that arrow business looks like it hurts, how long have you had that nasty thing stuck in you?”

Geralt’s brain scrambled to process what was happening. Jaskier was _here_ and talking to him normally, did he recognize him despite his canine form? Had Yennifer somehow sensed what had happened and sent Jaskier to fetch him?

But no, it couldn’t be, not with the fear he could smell on Jaskier. Jaskier was frightened all the time, but Geralt had never smelled Jaskier’s fear directed at _him_ before. It made him feel sick. Jaskier must really think he was just a regular wolf. 

Perhaps it was the fact that Geralt had just resigned himself to death only to be shocked back to hope, or the fact he’d gone four days without food or water, or just the surreal feeling of it all, but instead of reacting intelligently he found himself just watching the bard, tucking his aching wounded leg closer.

“Say you’re not bad for a wolf.” Jaskier said, his voice getting softer as he started to edge closer. “What if I took a look at-”

Geralt’s habitual annoyance with the bard resurfaced all at once, resulting in a growl that stopped Jaskier’s approach. _What on earth was he doing?_ If Geralt really was a wild injured animal then his current behavior would be the perfect way to get his face bitten off. How Jaskier survived when Geralt wasn’t around to yank him back from poor choices was truly beyond his comprehension. If Geralt could speak right now he’d be getting the lecture of his life.

But Jaskier, being Jaskier, was of course stupidly undeterred, instead keeping his voice puppy soft and high pitched as he rambled on, even digging some dried rabbit meat out of his pouch and tossing it to Geralt.

For a moment Geralt was tempted to mock lunge at the bard, give him a bit of a scare to try and teach him some badly needed self-preservation. Teach him to stay away from things that would only harm him.

…just like he’d done on the mountain?

The uncomfortable realization jolted enough common sense into him that he ate the rabbit jerky without protest and lay still, allowing Jaskier to approach. Larger concerns about Jaskier’s sense of danger aside, Geralt was _not_ a real wolf, and he _did_ very badly need help. If Jaskier had found him and was willing to provide that, then Geralt would be a fool not to shut up and accept it.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy.” Jaskier said gently, getting close enough to pet him, which Geralt endured long-sufferingly. “You know I’m not sure you’re much of a wolf at all. There’s no way I’d still have both my hands at this point if you were really wild. For which I thank you by the way, playing the lute one-handed isn’t a skill I have much interest in picking up. You act more like some kind of massive dog, did you have a human family that raised you? Have you been abandoned by your person?”

Geralt still smelled fear, but not nearly as strong as Jaskier’s curiosity and excitement now. The fool was probably already planning a song about this.

Geralt growled at him. _Just get on with it already_.

“You know you remind me very much of a friend of mine.” Jaskier said with a wry smile that quickly dropped away. “Or, acquaintance I suppose, he never did anything but growl either. In fact you’re probably much more in tune with your emotions than he is I’ll bet, although most rocks probably are if I’m being strictly honest. The man’s really a complete imbecile.”

Geralt snarled, tired and insulted. Did Jaskier bad mouth him behind his back to every woodland creature he met? It was no secret Geralt wasn’t as outwardly emotional or articulate as some people, gods knew Jaskier had never hesitated to tell him so. Albeit in far more teasing terms than this.

“Alright, so here’s my terrible plan.” Jaskier said, ignoring his snarl entirely. As usual. “I’m going to try and remove this arrow, which is going to hurt terribly, and then I’m going to patch you up. I’d be extremely grateful if you didn’t dismember me in any way while I do, but if you can’t help yourself I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugged. “I’m not in a very self-preserving mood at the moment, so I suppose a final act of misguided heroism isn’t the worst way to go. The last white wolf I hung around mauled me emotionally, so actually it would be terribly poetic if you did finish the job physically.”

Geralt’s growl trailed off at that. “Mauled” was a bit harsh... Geralt had gotten angry, had taken out his anger on Jaskier unfairly yes, after two weeks of regret Geralt was willing to admit that. But Jaskier’s wry tone of voice wasn’t the kind he used when he was exaggerating for dramatic effect.

Had Geralt been able to speak he probably still wouldn’t have, choosing to sidestep the uncomfortable emotion. Thankfully as a wolf he didn’t have to choose, instead focusing on sitting still and quiet as Jaskier finally _finally_ set to work removing the arrow from his shoulder and treating it, rambling the entire time as he always did when he helped patch up Geralt. Geralt was too focused on gritting his teeth against the pain to hear most of what Jaskier was saying, but found himself grateful for the familiar chatter nonetheless.

“There we go.” Jaskier said as he finished wrapping the wound. “Nothing like impromptu feral veterinary care to get the old heart pumping, eh?”

Geralt sighed quietly, exhaustion and relief sweeping through him to finally have the wound cared for. He wished he could mutter his customary “thanks.”

“You’re sulking.” Jaskier accused, petting his head.

Geralt huffed, shaking off the patronizing hand. He was _not_ sulking, he was _tired_. And a _wolf._

“Yes you are,” Jaskier insisted with a smile. “I know that look anywhere. Probably terribly embarrassing to be the king of the forest and have to accept help from a lowly human bard eh? Well I suppose wolves aren’t really the king, not if there’s griffins or something about.”

Geralt stared at him, all kinds of blunt corrections about biologically correct monster food chain structures running uselessly through his head. Instead his annoyance had to be communicated by shifting himself to face away from the bard and his obnoxious declarations.

“That settles it.” Jaskier declared as he started to gather sticks, evidently unbothered by Geralt’s huffing. “I’m calling you Geralt Junior. The both of you would get along splendidly in your stubborn grumpiness.”

Geralt looked up. He _was_ Geralt, if he could just get Jaskier to realize that.

“Geralt Junior? You like that name?” Jaskier asked with a grin, seeing his reaction.

Geralt hauled himself to his feet. His shoulder was already feeling better as it started to mend in earnest, but not fast enough, making him stumble when he tried walking toward Jaskier.

“Whoa whoa hey, settle.” Jaskier said quickly, dropping his armful of sticks and kneeling beside him, carefully pushing him back down. “Lay down, stay. You shouldn’t be walking any more tonight, you’ve got to heal alright? Lay down boy, do you know commands?”

Geralt stayed down with a growl, hiding his nose under his paws in frustration.

“That’s right, you go back to sulking, Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said happily, evidently none the wiser as he tried to pet Geralt’s head again.

Geralt shook his hand off, trying to focus on said sulking. If he was going to get Jaskier to realize it was really him he was going to have to try harder.

***

Geralt woke up long before Jaskier did and decided to celebrate his shoulder already feeling far better by scratching around in the ashes of the fire. It was messy, but by the time Jaskier woke up he’d managed to scratch out a decently legible “Geralt” in charcoal across the ground.

Not legible enough though apparently, since the bard of course barely even glanced at his work as he cheerfully greeted him upon waking. Geralt felt fully justified in his sulking after that, sticking around only long enough for his bandages to be removed before trotting off into the trees to find a stream for a much needed swim, not having bathed since before slaying the beast that started this whole mess nearly a week ago.

The bath ended up lifting his spirits far more than anticipated, the ashes and blood finally gone and his fur coat drying to an ivory shine in the summer sun. His upswing in mood definitely also had to do with the fact that the pain in his shoulder was quickly fading and that he was no longer hopeless and alone.

It was easy to keep tabs on Jaskier’s noisy progress down the road throughout the day, making it simple enough for Geralt to keep nearby as he wandered the woods. Now that he was finally able to move freely again it only made sense that he take a day on his own to really get used to how this new body worked.

By the time evening arrived Geralt was capable enough to hunt down a couple rabbits with no weapon but his teeth on his way back to Jaskier for the night, and the look of delighted surprise he got for it nearly made the last four days of pain worth it.

“So you’re not sick of me after all, huh?” Jaskier grinned. “I’m truly flattered you know.”

Geralt allowed himself a single tail wag in place of a smile as he dropped the rabbits at the bard’s feet. Had Jaskier actually thought he’d gone? That he wasn’t going to come back for him?

The silly bard.

***

Geralt was used to entering towns and villages with a sense of cautious unease, a lifetime of being a Witcher having taught him the hard way to be on guard around humans, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been _afraid_ like he was as he went into town with Jaskier the next day.

Perhaps it was some element of animal caution that came with his new form that had him so on edge as he stuck to his bard’s side, but mostly it was the knowledge that he was literally helpless if something went wrong.

As a Witcher he could bully his way through most trouble with a stern look at best and his twin swords at worst, but as a wolf the only defense he had against the wary eyes of the villagers around him was Jaskier’s reassuring presence and the “collar” around his neck. If something went wrong Geralt wouldn’t even be able to defend himself without putting Jaskier in danger of retaliation. There would be no galloping off on Roach this time, whatever happened would result in Jaskier taking the full consequences.

And yet Jaskier still pressed on, letting Geralt even come into the inn with him and vouching for his character despite not at all knowing that Geralt wasn’t really a wild animal after all. All in all the bard’s behavior was reckless and stupid, this kind of thing never would have been allowed had Geralt been a person, but as it was he could only be grateful for it. He’d die before admitting that the thought of being left out in the yard where any number of humans could take another shot at him while defenseless terrified him. The least he could do to show his gratitude was to shoulder his pride and play along with Jaskier’s plan, acting as tame and doggish as he knew how in order to gain the innkeeper's approval.

And it worked, the innkeeper handed over a room key and Jaskier was soon leading them to their room, dumping their things on the low bed and smelling of as much relief as Geralt felt.

“Well it’ll be supper time soon, so I’d better head downstairs to earn some coin.” Jaskier said, unpacking his lute from its case and tuning a few strings. “It might be best for you to stay up here since I don’t know how many people will be around tonight.”

Geralt got to his feet from where he’d been lying by the fireplace, leaning against Jaskier’s leg and looking up at him as pleadingly as he knew how. He’d noticed himself becoming far more outwardly expressive than normal, but with no other form of communication available to him he had no other choice. Monosyllabic grunts giving way to overstated body language to get his point across in ways Jaskier would hopefully understand.

“...or you can come down with me.” Jaskier said with a wry smile at his behavior, petting his head. “Really Geralt Junior, I had no idea wolves were so clingy. I certainly wouldn’t mind the company though.”

Geralt shook himself with a whine. He wasn’t being _clingy_ , he just didn’t want to be left alone locked in a room all night. Could he really be blamed for that? 

As they descended the stairs to the main area Geralt looked around at the evening crowd of patrons, scenting the busy evening air. Normally at this point he’d leave Jaskier to set up shop in the center of the tavern area and head to the back of the room. Somewhere out of the way that he could keep an eye on the bard’s performance while being left alone to his own meal and drink in relative peace. As popular as Jaskier’s witcher-themed songs were, he knew that having a _real_ witcher sitting beside him would only hurt his chances at getting coin. No, much better for both of them if Geralt minded his own business in the back of the room.

Besides, he didn’t mind the frequent moments he’d catch Jaskier looking for him in the crowd during his performances, meeting his eye with a smile and a wink.

But tonight was different, and as Jaskier settled on a stool and cheerily began playing his lute Geralt found himself curling up at the bard’s feet. Jaskier started off with a jaunty tune that soon got the crowd’s attention, people looking up from their conversations and meals with smiles to get a look at who was performing tonight. That didn’t surprise Geralt one bit, in his (very) private opinion Jaskier was the most talented performer he’d seen or heard in all his decades of travel, especially as the years had gone on to sharpen his talents.

What _did_ surprise Geralt was how long the audience’s gazes lingered not on the bard but on _him_. Specifically kind, surprised and intrigued expressions.

Geralt fought to keep from ducking his head, forcing himself to remain stoic as onlookers started to gather as Jaskier’s performance went on, but it was starting to get downright unnerving.

Because no matter where Geralt looked in the crowd he couldn’t find a single look of disgust, annoyance, or fear. Not even a nervous attempt at casualness, the expression he was most used to seeing directed at him. It almost made Geralt wonder if he’d become invisible on top of becoming a wolf, it made far more sense for these kinds of expressions to be directed at Jaskier.

“Doggie!”

Geralt’s ears pricked and his head tilted a bit as he heard an excited young voice in the crowd, small enough that likely only he could hear it over the noise. He peered through the legs of the audience to see a little girl straining to get away from her mother, pulling toward _him_.

“Sarah no, you don’t know that dog and his owner is performing, you stay right here.” came the hushed voice of her mother from the back of the crowd.

“But I want to pet him!” The girl cried. “He’s nice!”

Geralt saw the moment that the little girl squirmed out of her mother's grip and as she slipped through the crowd. His eyes were still wide in shock as she threw herself right at him with a delighted giggle. Geralt sat stock still for a long moment.

He had... _never_...been hugged by a child...

Never.

He’d saved hundreds over the years of course, from all kinds of dangers. Had even carried them, screaming, crying, and all too often silent with death back to their parents to be handed off as quickly as possible. Sometimes in exchange for a hurried thanks, sometimes a gruff dispute over coin, sometimes for nothing more than a frightened slur thrown back in his face to get away from them.

Because everyone knew that witchers stole children, all the important bedtime stories and old wives tales said so. Children and cats always knew a Witcher was coming before adults did too, their simple natures sensing something unnatural approaching, sending them scrambling out of the way with instinctive fear. Geralt had never thought to resent children for being frightened of him, they were vulnerable and needed to be cautious in this world. This was just the way things were. It was no blow to him.

But as the little girl hugged his neck and whispered delighted childish praise in his ear he felt something inside him give way, opening an empty, hollow place in his heart he hadn’t even realized was there. But one that must have been there this whole time.

A happy whine escaped him and his tail swished across the floor as he nosed at the little girl’s ear, making her _laugh_. Had he ever made a child laugh?

He found himself thinking, not for the first time, about his child surprise. The promised child bound to him by an ill-worded agreement and supposedly destiny. The young prince or princess would probably be about the same age as the little girl by now, wouldn’t they?

But then all too soon her mother was there, yanking her away from him crossly, apologizing to Jaskier as she hauled her daughter back.

“Not a problem ma’am, as you can see he’s quite tame.” Jaskier said with a dazzling smile.

As Geralt came back to himself and looked up at the bard he realized the poor man reeked of well-hidden fear. If Geralt could have laughed he would have, instead panting happily. Because of course Jaskier had only seen a young girl fall on a wolf of unknown character that he’d stupidly brought into a tavern, trying to pass it off as an old pet. Geralt was glad he had, and the bard of course had had nothing to worry about, but just the same he was aching to be able to tease Jaskier for the scare he’d gotten.

Jaskier quickly picked up the rest of his song, ending his performance well enough to get a hearty round of applause that ended in a more than decent offering of coin before the crowd happily dispersed.

“Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for being so tame.” Jaskier said in a hushed tone, dropping to one knee in front of him and stroking his head. “Gods above, I thought we were finished for a moment there, you’re truly a magnificently patient beast.”

Geralt ducked his head away from the attention, but really only on principle at this point. His tail was still wagging as he followed the bard to the table where the innkeeper had set out a meal of stew for Jaskier, and a wooden bowl of scraps for Geralt.

Had Geralt not been in an excellent mood he might have managed to become gruff at having been reduced to eating his meals on the floor. As it was he didn’t mind terribly, and really it certainly beat some miserable excuses for meals he’d endured out in the wilds in his time.

“Can I pet your dog?” Asked the man eating across the table from Jaskier.

Geralt looked up, glancing at the man who smelled of ink and parchment, a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

“He reminds me of a hound my father owned and he seems agreeable enough,” the man continued with a smile. “But I’d rather ask first than be bit second.”

“I...of course.” Jaskier said, pulling on a smile through a mouthful of stew. “I wouldn’t have brought him in if he weren’t friendly.” Geralt could smell a bit of nervousness from him.

“Well he certainly is a magnificent beast.” The man said, reaching over to scruff the fur between Geralt’s ears. “I bet he puts some fine catches on the table after hunts.”

Geralt accepted the petting with a stoic look, not so much as shaking off the man’s hand. He could smell the relief and happiness on Jaskier.

“Oh Geralt Junior’s not much of a hunter.” Jaskier laughed, relaxing as he launched into his fiction. “He can take care of himself well enough I suppose, but really he thinks he’s a lapdog. You know my sister used to read him bedtime stories when she was young, it’s a miracle I was able to steal him away to travel with me instead of her keeping him.”

Geralt sneezed in amusement at the tale of Jaskier’s invented sister.

“Geralt Junior?” Another man at the table said with a guffaw. “I get it now, after the witcher you sing about? That’s a clever joke if I ever heard one, white wolf indeed.”

“Well where’s his silver sword then?” A woman said cheerfully, coming up from behind Geralt and stroking his back without so much as a warning. “Such a handsome witcher wolf needs his tools of trade don’t he?”

“I’m afraid all he’s slain are the hearts of those who offer him treats. And the occasional rabbit.” Jaskier laughed, warmed up to his audience. “His silver coat is far more useful than a silver sword in his line of work.”

“Well he’s excellent at his trade.” The woman laughed, slipping Geralt a bit of sweetbread from her pocket. “Consider me slain by the mighty white wolf. Oh and look at him taking the bread all dainty-like with his teeth. Afraid he’ll bite my fingers? What a gentleman.”

If Geralt properly considered the positive attention he was currently drowning in he was going to become dizzy with it. Instead he focused on eating the sweetbread, which was followed by a bit of ham from another admirer, and a bit of jerky afterward by another.

The little girl had been one thing, but this much attention was downright mystifying. It was beginning to border on actually terrifying even, sending his heart beating faster than it did when he faced down griffins.

What Geralt was used to was people being careful not to even brush fingers as coin was exchanged, afraid they’d catch mange or worse from touching a Witcher. Aside from a hearty pat on the shoulder once in a blue moon from a particularly gutsy short-term adventuring partner, Geralt was used to only getting affection at brothels where he paid extra to girls who managed to hide their discomfort from their expressions. (But never their scents.)

But now it seemed like the entire village was trying to get their hands on him, and not even to try and drive him out.

Geralt found himself pressing against Jaskier’s leg under the table as the attention really began to become overwhelming, but luckily the bard seemed to pick up on it, looking down at him with concern and resting a calming hand on his flank. Jaskier may not realize that his wolf was enchanted, but nonetheless the bard had always had an uncanny knack for picking up on Geralt’s moods without a single word spoken.

“Well you’ve all been perfectly lovely, but I’m afraid we must take our leave for the night.” Jaskier said, getting up from his seat and bowing grandly to the table. “We wish you all a lovely evening and hope to see you tomorrow for our next performance.”

Geralt kept close to Jaskier as they climbed the stairs to their room for the night, already feeling better once they were out of sight.

“So not a huge fan of people for too long. That’s alright, we can be more careful in the future, no sense in you hanging around people if you aren’t enjoying it anymore.” Jaskier said with a smile, rubbing Geralt’s head.

Geralt tail wagged slow in gratitude as the bard looked through his pockets for the room key.

“Well tonight’s over my friend and you’ve done magnificently.” Jaskier yawned as he unlocked their door. “We’ll curl up in bed and that’ll be the end of it. I can’t tell you how excited I am for a real bed. I can only assume you’ve slept on one before, I highly recommend them.”

Geralt’s tail kept wagging as they entered the room, greeted by a warm fire and a clean smelling mattress. Over the years he and Jaskier had shared a bed dozens of times when inns were small or coin was short, even sleeping rolls out in the wilds when the weather was too cold for the bard to safely sleep alone. That was a warm and familiar kind of touch that Geralt never tired of, even though he’d never admit it.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t exactly been as starved for touch as he’d thought. Jaskier was forever touching him whoever they were together: grabbing his arm, leaning against him, helping shuck off his armor at night, sharing a bed, stitching him up, even helping him bathe when he was particularly incapacitated, or they were to attend an important social event.

Jaskier’s touch had never felt overwhelming like the villager’s had. In fact Geralt had perhaps taken it for granted, so comfortable with it and expecting it to the point of no longer appreciating it properly.

He’d never once thanked Jaskier for making him feel like a real person who _could_ be so casually touched.

That...seemed unfair of him...

“You perfect thing.” Jaskier said with a yawn, closing the room door behind them. He scratched between Geralt’s ears.

Geralt nearly ducked away in guilt but didn’t. After all, it seemed very likely that there wouldn’t be any other possible way than this that he could use to apologize to the bard for a long time.


	2. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to avoid as many repeated-word-for-word scenes as possible (since writing new stuff is more fun) so be sure you've read Jaskier's POV first in the series so you can see how all the scenes fit together. :)

The sun was streaming through the windows of their inn room and Jaskier was _still_ sound asleep, even as the late morning warmth made Geralt downright uncomfortable at still being indoors this late.

Staying in bed past dawn was not a luxury that frequently arose in the life of a witcher, usually only happening when Geralt was terribly injured. Not even winters spent at Kaer Morhen were enough to keep him in bed late, he was always up and moving before the cock crowed, finding himself scaling the fortress walls for chilly morning exercise or even just browsing the library to brush up on hunting knowledge.

But after a week of traveling with Jaskier as a wolf Geralt had now spent a week of mornings not leaving the inn room until the sun was well in the sky. He’d always known Jaskier was less than pleased to be roused early every morning when they traveled together, but hadn’t ever realized just _how_ different the man’s real sleeping habits were when he was alone. 

Geralt nosed at Jaskier’s hand yet again in a quiet effort to rouse him, but the bard simply rolled over, tangling himself even further in the sheets. Not even Geralt restlessly jumping onto and off of the bed several times in the last hour had shifted Jaskier, who seemed perfectly content to lay sprawled across the mattress until evening, wasting away the entire day in messy haired sleep until it was time to perform for the evening crowd again.

Geralt padded over to the window, rearing up onto his back legs to get his front paws on the window sill, looking out over the bustling morning marketplace outside. It felt like it was mocking him, a whole town of people with tasks and chores and jobs going about their days. All with responsibilities that had them out of bed and moving, with _hands_ to actually do them with too.

And maybe that was what was really getting on Geralt’s nerves. Not the fact that Jaskier wasn’t awake yet, not even the fact that he was still cooped up indoors...

...but the fact that even if Geralt _were_ to get out there was nothing for him to do.

If he were his normal self there’d be no problem with him leaving Jaskier to sleep in while he went off to replenish his ingredient stock in the market, check notice boards for work, or even go after a contract and return later that night covered in gore and richer in coin. There was always something for a Witcher to be doing. If there wasn’t that meant it was time for Geralt to move to the next town, Jaskier always following behind.

But now, for the first time in his unnaturally long life, there was _truly_ nothing for Geralt to do. No contracts to take. No possessions to replenish or sharpen. Not even Roach to go out and groom.

He had nothing.

And he was starting to feel an awful lot like nothing too.

_I am a witcher._ His age old mantra, the stubborn phrase that had gotten him through everything, had worn thin awfully fast without anything remotely witchery left of him. But if he wasn’t a Witcher then what _was_ he? Anything that even mattered?

Geralt shook himself with a whine that shifted to a light growl as he stalked over to the bed, grabbing Jaskier’s sleeve and tugging on it hard.

Jaskier groaned, shifting his face into the pillow. “Too early.” he muttered.

Geralt growled in earnest now, grabbing more sleeve in his teeth and pulling Jaskier off the bed with one yank. The bard fell to the floor with a yelp, startling awake with wide eyes and tousled hair.

“Well alright then, I’m up, you don’t have to yell.” Jaskier yawned, looking annoyed. “What’s wrong with you today anyway?”

Geralt looked away, maintaining his low growl.

“So grumpy.” Jaskier said, getting to his feet and stretching. “Well I suppose if I’m up already we can get something to eat and head down to the market.” He dropped back to sit on the mattress and started fumbling with a pair of pants, still blinking sleep from his eyes. “We’ve gotten plenty of coin and now that it’s obvious you’re planning on hanging around I want my belt back. Let’s get you a real collar today, what do you think about that?”

Geralt stopped his growling, letting out a low huff instead as he trotted to the door, pawing at it impatiently to signal his answer. At first wearing a collar had felt awkward and degrading, but that had been before Geralt had realized that in fact it was his ticket to safety.

As a person he relied on his armor and medallion to tell people important things for everyone’s safety: _I am a Witcher. I am dangerous but reliable. I am to be left alone_. As a wolf he had to send far different messages: _I am tame. I am safe to be around. I belong to someone._ And as foolish as it sometimes felt, Geralt wasn’t too stupid to realize the social power and protection the teal floral printed belt around his neck had given him. It was an armor all its own.

But the thought of getting one that wasn’t actually part of Jaskier’s wardrobe was still exciting him far more than it should have, probably because this was the first thing that had happened for _him_ in a week, and he found himself nearly desperate to get going.

He huffed at himself, ears flicking back in annoyance. How far had he really fallen to be whining and prancing in place at the prospect of running an errand for himself?

Jaskier only laughed at his clear impatience, but did pick up his pace a bit. By the time the two of them found their way into the crowded marketplace Geralt felt like he was going to burst with impatience as Jaskier leisurely made his way from stall to stall, looking over the wares of different merchants. Geralt could smell the leather worker’s stall all the way at the end of the street, why didn’t Jaskier hurry up and take him there already?

“-yes, collars. Something big enough for my dog?” He heard Jaskier say.

Geralt trotted back to his side as a merchant pulled a box out from under his table.

“Well you’ve got quite a pet there friend,” the merchant said, looking Geralt over with an impressed look. “But I think I’ve got a few in here that’ll fit even him, take a look.”

Jaskier started pulling out collars and setting them on the tabletop. Several of brown leather, several that looked too short. One ridiculously ornate one that wasn’t even leather at all, but woven out of stiff colored threads in patterns of flowers.

Geralt’s ears pricked forward as Jaskier set a last one on the table. It was wide and thick, made of black leather with silver studs punched into it. It looked so much like Geralt’s old witcher armor that he started whining, nosing at it. _This one, get me this one._

“Hang on Geralt, don’t chew on any of these, I don’t want to end up buying them all.” Jaskier said, pushing Geralt’s snout away.

Geralt growled, shoving past Jaskier’s hand as he pawed at the studded collar again. _This. One. Get it._ He could smell Jaskier’s frustration at him but he didn’t care. This was supposed to be about him.

“I expect he likes the smell of the leather.” The merchant chuckled. “He’d look right fearsome in that one though, it would suit a beast like him.”

“That’s exactly why I’m not getting that one.” Jaskier said easily, pushing Geralt away from it again and picking up the studded collar. Geralt could smell the bard’s scent sharpen. “He’s a companion, not a hunting dog, he needs to look the part he’s playing. Any bard worth their salt knows the importance of costume.”

Geralt barely heard what Jaskier said, only seeing him pick up the woven collar instead as he dropped the studded one back into the box. Geralt’s ears pinned back and he let out a frustrated growling bark, wishing he could push Jaskier aside like usual to just do it himself, or at least give him a piece of his mind.

But instead Geralt startled as Jaskier spun on him, looking him directly in the eyes with a simmering expression he’d never ever directed at Geralt before. His sharp scent, that was _anger_ coming off of the bard.

“Stop.” Jaskier commanded, his voice laced with enough angry finality that Geralt actually felt his tail tuck a bit between his legs.

The bard’s voice wasn’t heated, in fact it was icy cold. His scent went from sharp to something a step more painful. It was so intense that it almost felt like Jaskier was really seeing him, but he’d never talked to Geralt like this when he was a person.

“New rule.” Jaskier said, his voice chillingly even, not breaking eye contact for a moment. “Unless you’re in pain or I’m in danger there’s going to be absolutely no growling at me. I’ve gotten a lifetime's worth of that from your namesake thank you very much, and I refuse to take any more of it.”

Geralt was silent, he would have been speechless even if he’d been capable of speaking.

He’d seen Jaskier pick fights with insult tossing peasants before, had seen him charge into a brawl with nothing but a glass bottle to defend himself, had even seen him square up with generals and sorceresses and monsters far more powerful than him over the years when the situation called for it.

But he’d never seen this side of Jaskier. Because the scent of anger coming off the bard was no match for the scent of emotional pain that overpowered it.

_...I was stupid enough to hang around him for years..._

_...he bit far more than you do my friend. With words I mean..._

_...I mean he was always insulting me…_

And with that Jaskier turned back to the merchant, leaning against the table with an easy smile as he began haggling over the price of the woven collar. Geralt sat silently at his feet, his mind replaying what Jaskier had told his wolf self in confidence over the past week about his witcher self.

Being around Jaskier as a wolf had of course already revealed to Geralt just how out of line he’d been when he’d chased the bard off three weeks ago, but had Jaskier really hated his normal day-to-day growling that much all these years? Geralt knew he wasn’t the easiest person to be around by a long shot, but Jaskier had never seemed to mind. He’d always just smiled and shook his head whenever Geralt had resorted to sharp single word answers and angry grunting instead of longer wordy phrases.

Geralt wasn’t always like that. Especially around Jaskier, who was the only person who regularly cajoled him into real full length conversations as they traveled the continent together. But even when he was more talkative Geralt had never shied away from loosing the brunt of his frustrations or bad moods on Jaskier. Just like he had with his poor mood today. Just like...

_...if life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands..._

Ah.

Geralt hated feeling guilt, but this felt far worse than anything he’d felt in years. Because Jaskier _had_ minded how flippantly Geralt had treated him sometimes, minded terribly in fact, but had hid it from him. Or perhaps Geralt had never wanted to notice, had always had the luxury of pushing past Jaskier and onto his own plans like he’d tried with the collars.

But now Geralt could only sit and wait as the bard handled things for him, left to silently review every growl, every snapped reply, every unfair accusation his brain could dredge up from the last twenty two years that had been aimed at Jaskier.

Above him Jaskier was of course as patient and sunny as ever as he settled on a price with the merchant, even as the scent of pain still ebbed from him. The same scent he’d gotten the times he’d confided to Geralt without realizing who he was really talking to.

Geralt knew by now just how badly he’d hurt Jaskier by not reciprocating his affection and by verbally attacking him on the mountain, but it was a new kind of pain to realize that the bard might have been hurting their entire friendship.

There was a shaking of hands and an exchanging of coin above and then the merchant took the box, heading to the back of his stall. Jaskier turned to Geralt with a smile, getting down on one knee as he unlatched the old belt collar and slipped on the new one.

“Here we are.” Jaskier said, adjusting the new collar—which did feel like a much more comfortable fit than the belt had—around Geralt’s neck. “You do look handsome, any lord would be glad to have you curled up in front of their fireplace by their side, you magnificent thing.”

Geralt looked at the ground, not wanting to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier’s smile dropped, replaced with a concerned look.

“I'm sorry I snapped at you.” He said quietly, petting his head. “You have been difficult today but you didn’t deserve that. You’re not the one I’m really upset at, I’ll make it up to you with a treat when we get back to the inn, alright?”

Except Geralt _was_ the one who deserved it. But continuing to sulk would only worry Jaskier more, so instead he wagged his tail, pushing his head up against Jaskier’s chest in what little apology he could manage in this state. If he ever regained the ability to speak that’s what he would say first, a real apology for everything.

“There’s a good boy.” Jaskier chuckled, scruffing his hands through the thick fur of Geralt’s neck. “A good handsome boy. You’re going to be quite the heart stealer with that new collar of yours, you just wait.”

Geralt leaned up against Jaskier as he stood, doing his best to be as non growly as possible as they went on their way through the marketplace.

It was going to take a bit of extra effort to not resort to growling and snapping and snarling, but Geralt was already determined to keep Jaskier’s new rule. After all, it’s not as if he had any other challenges to keep him busy. And besides, making sure Jaskier felt _only_ appreciated was long overdue.

***

Geralt had been a wolf for an entire month now and he’d learned many things about Jaskier, but he’d also learned things about life. Some admittedly more useful than others.

He’d learned that all animals from chickens to cattle had a subtle language all their own that people just didn’t catch, a language he still didn’t understand fully but that he was getting better at everyday. He’d learned that most humans could be charmed by a wagging tail and a pretty collar faster than even Jaskier could manage. He’d even learned that there was a certain delectable smell that could only be gotten from rolling in garbage, but he was _fairly_ sure that the virtue of that particular realization was heavily dependent on him being a wolf.

But perhaps the most important thing he’d learned was that humans didn’t watch what they said at all when they thought there were only animals around to hear them.

“Talented bard they’ve got tonight.”

Geralt’s ear flicked toward the three men who were leaning against the outside of the tavern as he snuffled through the long grass, tracking a mouse he’d smelled in the evening air. Over the weeks Jaskier had become far more relaxed with how close he kept Geralt, meaning that Geralt was allowed to wander as he pleased as long as he kept out of trouble. It was a small freedom that had made life far more enjoyable, not the least of which being because Geralt could eavesdrop on unwitting humans even more easily than he had as a witcher.

“He’s got a pretty enough voice,” said one of the other men. Geralt could tell the three men were watching him but continued his snuffling. “Been making quite a name for himself with that white wolf, just look at him. Tame as anything and as eye catching as they come. Saw some kids playing with him earlier, no wonder he’s getting his master a reputation.”

“I bet the bard’s purse is even prettier than his face.” The third man mused. “He sure dresses well enough. Bet that dog would fetch a pretty price too if he could be convinced to part with him.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed as the men all chuckled, an ugly sound.

“I heard he’s staying at the Golden Swallow.” The second man said. “Wouldn’t take much to pay him a visit late tonight, have a chat and see if he’s willing to part ways with some of his finer things. I reckon the three of us would have pretty good chances against one bard, don’t you think?”

Geralt kept himself as outwardly calm as possible, even as a sticky hot protectiveness trickled down his spine.

“What about the wolf?” the first man asked. “I don’t fancy a tussle with something that big if it gets upset.”

“It’s not a wolf, it’s an overgrown lapdog.” the second scoffed, unfolding his arms. “He’s tame as anything, probably wouldn’t even notice it’s changed masters. Look, I’ll show you. Hey, here boy!”

Geralt let himself look up as the man called to him, snapping his fingers and smiling.

If Geralt were still a witcher he would have made short work of these men, bluntly confronting them with enough blade to get them to abandon their plans at best, making sure they’d never harm anyone again at worst. Although he doubted they would have let themselves speak so carelessly around a witcher in the first place.

As a wolf though...as a wolf Geralt found himself wanting to try seeing what would happen if he handled this entirely differently. Because they were _not_ going to lay a single finger on his Jaskier, that much he knew.

“Pspsps, here boy, come here you big brute.” The man said, calling to him in a high pitched sing-song voice.

Geralt pricked his ears and bounded forward toward the men, panting in a charade of canine happiness. The man laughed as he bent down to pet him.

“See? Tame as anything. He’s just a big stupid beast, aren’t you?” he crooned, scratching behind Geralt’s ears.

Geralt made a show of enjoying the affection as the other men petted him as well, but this close to the men he could now see for certain that none of them were carrying weapons. Their mistake.

“Why don’t I take him home now and we take care of the bard later?” The first man suggested, his dirty fingers curling around Geralt’s collar. “That way we don’t have to worry about dragging him out of the inn and barking while we slit his master’s throat.”

It took every ounce of Geralt’s willpower not to snarl, but he kept it back, well practiced after a month of quietly tempering his fouler moods.

“Not a bad idea.” The third man nodded. “That way we can even have some fun with the bard too. He’s real pleasant to look at, would be a shame to waste it so fast.”

The men all laughed. The fingers on Geralt’s collar loosened.

Perfect.

Geralt silently lunged up at the first man, jaws snapping shut on the bandit’s throat and ripping before he even had time to finish his laugh, instead collapsing to the dirt with a hollow moan and glassy eyes as blood pooled around him.

Without missing a beat Geralt lept at the third man, feeling his adrenaline pounding as he knocked the bandit to the ground. The man’s eyes widening in horror as he tried to cover his face in still dawning shock. Geralt had never fought anything larger than rabbits as a wolf, but the sticky hot iron taste of the blood in his mouth was the same and his witcher killing instincts certainly hadn’t gone anywhere.

It was messy and hot and fast, but before the second man—the ringleader—had time to even properly stumble back his second fallen comrade was twitching in the dirt with a gurgling shriek.

“What, what-” the ringleader stuttered, looking at his two dead friends in shock. Men who had been standing and laughing and plotting an innocent man’s death only moments before.

Geralt looked up at the man, panting happily again knowing what a chilling sight it made him as blood dripped from his open mouth.

“Y-you, you heard us, didn’t you?” The bandit said hollowly, Geralt could hear his racing heart and the cloying scent of fear flowing off him.

Geralt knew by now that he couldn’t properly nod his head, but he dipped his head up and down in his best imitation as he smiled his canine grin, eyes squinted with grim satisfaction to see the bandit’s face pale even further.

“You’re no wolf.” The bandit gasped, stumbling back desperately, eyes wide as his hands scrabbled in the weeds for anything he could use as a weapon. “You’re _cursed_. What are you?”

Geralt huffed at the irony. Maybe it would be worth letting the villain live just on the off chance he’d let Jaskier in on the secret.

“We were just joking.” The bandit said hurriedly. “We weren’t really going to do anything to your master, we weren’t really going to kill him, honest! Leave me be, I’ll do him no harm, I swear it!”

Even if Geralt hadn’t smell the bald-faced lie on the bandit his sharp eyes spotted the man’s hand close around a discarded bar of iron in the weeds. The man’s face twisted in a snarl of his own as he swung the metal at Geralt’s head.

It was over almost before it began, Geralt lunged and the metal clattering out of the bandit’s limp fingers as he collapsed under the wolf’s attack. Geralt panted heavily as he stood in the alleyway, now alone with three bodies that would never kill anyone again. More importantly, who would never kill Jaskier.

Geralt whined, trying to scent the air for Jaskier but not smelling much over the cloying iron scent of the blood covering his snout. A cold feeling swept through him as he realized he wasn’t out of danger yet. As a Witcher he could get away with slaughtering murderous bandits, but if the townspeople found three men dead of dog bites and spotted a wolf covered in gore he knew there was only one way for that particular story to end.

Geralt latched onto the ringleader’s collar, yanking at it to drag the body down the alley toward the canal that ran through the town. It took some doing but after a minute or two the corpse was tumbled into the murky water, quickly joined by the bandit’s two other friends.

Geralt huffed as he trotted to a nearby horse trough, doing his best to rinse the worst of the blood from his face and paws but having no way of seeing how successful he was. He shook himself to get the excess water off, spooking a rabbit from the weeds. His ears pricked up as an idea occurred to him and he took off after it.

***

“Geralt, look at you, you mighty hunter. Finally returning from your evening of fun I see.” Jaskier said, shaking his head in amusement as he let Geralt into their inn room. “But really, did you catch that rabbit in a _lake_? You’re a damp mess. I swear you’ve been getting enough to eat, but perhaps not if you’re still hunting?”

Geralt wagged his tail as he dropped the rabbit at his feet, just happy to see his bard safe and sound, a now familiar warm loving feeling rushing through him.

He wished he could tell Jaskier what had happened. He wished he could tell him how he’d felt, angry and protective. He wished he could pull Jaskier into a hug just to reassure himself that no one else was going to touch him.

But he couldn’t. He hadn’t before and he couldn’t now that he felt like he was bursting with words and emotions that he _couldn’t_ express them even if he wanted to.

Probably _because_ he had no choice.

And he did very much want to.

“Well we’ll make sure to get you more to eat if you need it.” Jaskier said with a smile, fetching a towel and kneeling to rub Geralt down with it, paying special attention to cleaning his face. “You’ll get us kicked out of inns if you make a habit of showing up late and wet with rabbit blood on your snout you know.”

Geralt shook his newly dried fur, pushing his face against Jaskier, making the bard laugh and hug his neck.

“I love you too, you ridiculous thing.” Jaskier said warmly, kissing his head.

Geralt whined, several emotions fighting uselessly in him. Useless since he had no way to show them.

“Well I’m back to sleep if you care to join me.” Jaskier said with a yawn, setting aside the towel and collapsing back onto the mattress, having apparently already been asleep when Geralt had come scratching at the door.

Geralt lept up onto the bed without hesitation, curling up against Jaskier and resting his head on the bard’s chest.

“Good boy.” Jaskier said, eyes already closed as he ran his fingers through Geralt’s fur, drifting off to sleep almost immediately.

Geralt watched him sleep, thinking of all the things he would say if he could. All the things that he likely had permanently missed out on ever saying.

Because Jaskier was never going to figure out Geralt’s curse on his own, that much had become clear over the last month. The only thing Geralt had been able to think of was if Yennifer somehow came across the bard, surely she’d at least recognize Geralt as cursed if not recognizing him as _Geralt_.

But he knew too much about curses to be naive enough to suppose that even Yennifer would be able to break it even if she knew about it. Curses were tricky, stubborn things. Their cures were always cryptic hidden clues tied to their beginnings, if they even had a cure at all.

With Geralt unable to even tell Yen who had cursed him or how she wouldn’t even have a place to start, leaving him a wolf forever.

Geralt whined softly, shifting closer to Jaskier as his gaze flicked up, toward the locked door that no bandits would be coming through tonight.

Well at least he was spending his new life the best way he could imagine, at Jaskier’s side, protecting him even if he didn’t know it. Even if Geralt wished it were different, there was no place he’d rather be.

***

“Geralt, if you don’t bring the stick back to me I can’t throw it for you.”

Geralt bounded right past Jaskier, happily carrying his stick in his mouth as he dashed back and forth across the dirt road the two of them were traveling down. The warm afternoon sun warmed the fur on his back as he pranced through weeds, investigating intriguing smells as he came across them.

Geralt had no idea where they were going that day, and he had no idea when they were going to get there, and that was perfectly fine. Because he and Jaskier were together and that was more than enough. Although his new stick certainly helped.

He bounded back to the bard, letting him wrestle the stick from his mouth after a few playful tugs, and then took off after it again when Jaskier threw it for him.

Two months ago Geralt would never have believed that his life could be so simple, and he never would have believed that the uncomplicated joy of traveling with his best friend could have satisfied him so easily. And yet, here they were. Long mornings spent curled up next to Jaskier in bed, effortless afternoons traveling or strolling markets, joyful evenings sitting at the bard’s side while he performed, and then nights of listening attentively to whatever crossed Jaskier’s mind as the two of them lounged in front of a fire. 

Geralt of course missed plenty of things about being a witcher, for one his list of things he wished he could tell Jaskier was always growing, but as time had gone on he’d decided that perhaps this fate wasn’t entirely terrible after all.

Geralt’s ears pricked up as the sound and scent of horses approaching, a lot of them. He emerged from the tall grasses at the side of the road to see a horse merchant’s caravan passing them on the road. His eyes widened as a particular smell reached him from the group, a painfully familiar one coming from a glossy chestnut mare with a stripe down her face.

Geralt let out a bark of surprise and the mare looked up, her ears twitching toward him. When she saw him she let out a sharp whinny of recognition that jolted him into action. His stick dropped to the ground forgotten as he rushed up to Roach, yelping and whining in excitement.

_It was Roach_.

The roadside exploded into chaos around him, spooked horses yanking at their leads and trying to skitter away from him, the horse merchant shouting, Jaskier yelling at him too as his hand grabbed his collar. But Geralt was single minded in his focus as he hauled Jaskier forward toward Roach, whining desperately as his horse put up a fit of her own trying to tug away from her lead toward him.

Then suddenly Jaskier’s grip faltered. “...Roach?” he said, voice sounding dry.

Geralt looked up at Jaskier, whining and barking. _It’s her, it’s my horse, do something please!_

“Where did you get that horse?” Jaskier demanded of the horse merchant, letting go of Geralt’s collar.

Geralt dashed up to Roach with the bard close behind, filled with gratitude that Jaskier had caught on so quickly. Geralt danced around Roach’s feet, yelping in canine excitement as the horse dipped her head to nose at him affectionately. She’d seen him turned into a wolf, of course she knew it was him.

In the excitement Geralt missed most of what the humans were doing but it sounded like Jaskier was in a full shouting match with the horse merchant.

“-she’s coming with me _now_ as well as anything else you stole from back where you found her.” Jaskier said angrily. “And believe me, I’ll know if you try to keep _any_ of it back.”

Geralt whined in gratitude, pressing against Jaskier’s legs as he untied Roach from the caravan. The bard had no reason to be doing this, not after thinking his last interaction with Geralt had been that disaster back on the mountain. Jaskier had every right to look the other way and wish Geralt’s apparent disappearance good riddance, but instead he was going out of his way to get his horse and things back for him. Geralt didn’t deserve this kindness at all.

Two of the horse merchant’s boys dumped armloads of all too familiar things at their feet and Geralt nearly stumbled as the scent of his own witcher belongings rushed over him. The dusty leather scent of his armor, still spattered in grime. The sharp varied smells of his alchemy bag. And of course the constant smell of steel and silver as Jaskier pulled his two swords out of the pile of things.

It felt almost as if Geralt were waking from a dream, memories of a past life weaving their way back to him. He felt an aching longing for it, wishing desperately for his old body again, wishing to be a witcher again so he could take up all his things and his life.

“These were all at the camp?” Jaskier asked sharply, looking through the pile as if he were taking stock of every item. Geralt could smell anger and distress flowing off the bard.

“They were, strewn about in a right mess too.” The merchant said, looking eager to get all this over with and gone.

“The medallion.” Jaskier demanded horsley, looking up from a saddlebag. “Where’s the silver wolf medallion?”

Geralt whined softly as he realized what why Jaskier smelled so distraught. Geralt would never have voluntarily left all his belongings and Roach behind, Jaskier must think that his witcher was dead.

One of the boys handed over Geralt’s old silver medallion to Jaskier, who took it stiffly, his scent spiking from anger to shock and grief. Geralt had never ever smelled Jaskier this sad before and it twisted at his gut, the now familiar feeling of guilt eating at him. Because of course this was all his fault and he couldn’t stand Jaskier being hurt by him _again_ , especially when it was all a terrible misunderstanding.

Geralt nosed at the medallion in Jaskier’s hand, whining. _I’m not dead! I’m still here with you, don’t be sad!_

Jaskier silently handed the merchant some coin and the caravan left as quickly as it came, leaving the bard the wolf and the horse alone on the dusty road with all of Geralt's earthly possessions piled in front of them. It felt like some kind of surreal dream Geralt couldn’t manage to wake up from, a dream that turned toward a nightmare as Jaskier collapsed to his knees, breaking into rough sobs as tears ran freely down his face.

No no no. Geralt pressed against Jaskier as close as he could get. _Don’t cry! None of this is your fault! I’m not dead!_ If only he could talk, all of this could be solved in an instant. Jaskier hugged Geralt tightly, burying his face in his fur as he continued to sob. Geralt settled heavily across the bard’s lap, being as present and comforting as he knew how. He idly wondered how he might have dealt with a crying bard before all this. Would he have stood awkwardly by? Would he have tried to comfort him at all or been too concerned with his own discomfort at such a strong display of emotions? 

It took a long time for Jaskier’s tears to ease a bit. 

“He’s, he’s gone.” Jaskier hiccuped, opening his hand to look at the medallion in his hand. “I mean...I k-know I already lost him...b-but not like _this_.”

Geralt whined quietly, pressing his head against Jaskier’s shoulder bracingly. _You haven’t lost me. I’m not gone, I wish I could make you understand._

“Why did _that_ have to be the last time I saw him...” Jaskier said quietly, burying his face in Geralt’s fur. “Why did it have to end like _that_? I really believed I would see him again. What am I going to do now?” He looked up as Roach nudged his shoulder, the horse clearly confused by Jaskier’s grief.

“Oh Roach, I’m so sorry. You probably saw it actually happen, you poor thing.” Jaskier said, getting to his feet and rubbing her cheek, easing off the rough rope bridle from the merchant. “I know he didn’t like me much by the end, but I hope it’s alright if you stick with me. I promise I’ll keep you brushed and well fed, no monster hunting, but I’ll take good care of you.”

Geralt was nearly whining in frustration at not being able to talk, unable to pull Jaskier into a reassuring hug, unable to thank him for everything he was doing. All he could do was stay right by the man’s side as he set about slowly saddling Roach and packing up all of Geralt’s witcher things with practiced care, sadness still dripping off him. Sadness Geralt desperately needed to wipe away.

Jaskier finished packing up Roach and stood back, pulling Geralt’s old medallion out of his pocket and staring at it. Geralt looked up attentively as Jaskier got down on one knee in front of him.

“I need you to hold onto this for me alright?” Jaskier said quietly. “Keep it safe while we travel.”

Geralt sat very still in agreement, nearly reverent as the bard gave him back his own medallion.

But the instant the metal chain passed over his nose Geralt could feel something changing, a quivering electric rush that crept over him as the chain passed over his head. He distantly felt the weight of the medallion hit his chest as a flash of light sent him stumbling to his feet, but an instant later his vision cleared, leaving him staring at his his own two _very human hands._

Geralt’s eyes widened in surprised shock as he looked himself over, his complete witcher self back to normal. The medallion had broken the curse!

Barely an instant had passed and Geralt’s witcher reflexes alerted him to Jaskier’s cry of alarm, still stumbling back from the flash of light that had evidently blinded him. Geralt caught the bard before he fell back, pulling him into a tight hug that had two months’ worth of gratitude and relief and love piled into it.

“Unhand me!” Jaskier yelped in surprise, still blinking to get his sight back as he struggled in Geralt’s grip. “Let me-”

“I’m sorry Jaskier.” Geralt said quietly in Jaskier’s ear, his voice feeling rusty after not using it for so many weeks, but still full of emotion at finally, _finally_ being able to apologize.

Jaskier looked up at him, eyes widening in stunned recognition as he finally saw who was holding him.

“G-Geralt?”

***

“You really didn’t mind the collar? I should have picked that black leather one you wanted, that’s why you were so huffy about it, I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Geralt said, setting another log on the campfire.

He stood, walking barefoot to where Jaskier was sitting perched on his bedroll. Geralt was wearing his loosest shirt and pants, unable to bear wearing socks and shoes yet after only a few hours as a person again. But at least he’d managed to pitch camp like usual with only minimal fumbling. Jaskier was still watching Geralt with a look of fond disbelief that hadn’t left him since that afternoon, as if he were still convinced he were about to wake from a dream.

Geralt sat on the bedroll, gently pulling the bard into his lap. Jaskier smiled, reaching up to hold Geralt’s face as if he were trying to memorize him. 

“I didn’t need a collar that looked like my old armor,” Geralt said, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist. “I needed the flower one, you were right to choose it. You don’t have to keep apologizing for anything, you did everything exactly right. It’s like what you said about actors having the right costume.”

“You’re going to have to be patient with me,” Jaskier chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s going to take me at least a few days to adjust to the reality of a Geralt who remembers things I’ve said weeks ago. All of this is quite a shock.”

“You’ve never been anything but patient with me.” Geralt said, taking one of Jaskier’s hands and kissing his palm. “I owe you all the patience you want a hundred times over.”

“See? This is exactly what I mean, you’re using _words_ Geralt, about your _feelings_ no less.” Jaskier teased with a smile, playing with the chain of Geralt’s medallion. “If I hadn’t seen you sharpening your silver sword just now I’d think I had a good natured doppler on my hands. Say, a doppler could change into a wolf couldn’t it? That would certainly make all of this make more sense. I don’t think I’ve heard of a mage turning people into wolves before, he must have been an odd bird.”

“I don’t think he was a mage.” Geralt said, watching Jaskier idly turn the medallion over in his hands as the bard rested his head against his chest. Curling up against him as a wolf had been good, but this was so much better. “I’d bet good coin there was something fae in his blood, whatever he was. They’re the kind to be as unhinged and, well, _creative_ as he was.”

“There was so much compliment in that insult I can hardly decide whether or not to be offended.”

Geralt was on his feet in an adrenaline jolting instant, pushing Jaskier behind him and grabbing his freshly sharpened silver sword from where it lay nearby.

On the other side of their camp stood the teal and orange clad man Geralt had gone up against months ago, watching them idly, as if slightly bored.

“What do you want?” Geralt asked, voice as level as his sword. He already knew that riling the man could result in an attack he wouldn’t be able to parry, but with Jaskier at risk he couldn’t quite bring himself to lower his sword as he cast a simple protective Quen shield around the two of them. “We’ve done you no harm, leave us in peace.”

“Oh do calm yourself.” The man drawled. “I felt my curse end and I came to see whether you’d finally died in a ditch somewhere. Wolf teeth make fine ingredients you know, waste not want not and all that.”

“Geralt, he’s the one who turned you into a wolf?” Jaskier asked, pushing past him.

“Jaskier, don’t-”

“What kind of sick bastard are you anyway?” Jaskier snapped at the sorcerer, folding his arms. “Turning people to wolves, talking of harvesting their teeth for gods’ sakes. Walking around in such a disaster of an outfit as _that_ too. I’ve half a mind to break my lute over your head, haven’t you got anything better to do than turn people into animals against their will?”

Geralt braced himself for the attack or curse that was sure to follow, but instead hesitated as the sorcerer only laughed.

“You’ve got spirit.” The man said with an easy grin. “Have you any interest in joining my collection?”

“I should think not, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” Jaskier said hotly. “Now leave us be, we solved your stupid curse by finding the medallion so the show’s over. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

“Jaskier...” Geralt warned quietly, on edge at how many insults were being flung at the very powerful magic user. But neither of them paid him any attention.

“Medallion?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Geralt’s witcher medallion.” Jaskier said impatiently, motioning to the medallion in question. “The key to lifting your curse? We put it back on him and he became a person again?”

“Oh, it wasn’t the medallion that did it. Not really.” The man said dismissively. “Although that would have been a much more interesting key had I thought of it at the time.”

“How do you mean?” Jaskier asked, looking as surprised as Geralt felt.

“I’m afraid my curse was far more basic than that.” The sorcerer said, looking them over, his bored expression back. “It was broken by your fool of a witcher caring for someone who cared for him back as much as I cared for my poor Truskawka, may she rest in peace. I’d assumed such a violent brute would never find a cure like that.”

“Shows what you know.” Jaskier said, really starting to scare Geralt with how cocky the bard sounded. Or at least Geralt might have felt frightened if it weren’t so endearing.

“Well if you’re going to be so stubborn about it then fine, we’ll say the medallion was the cure all along and that it was my idea from the start.” the sorcerer said, nodding his head. “Still, do be careful where you take it off and on though, or I’ll get those wolf teeth yet.”

And with no further ceremony the man winked out of sight. There one moment and then gone the next. Vanished as quickly as he’d come.

“Hang on!” Jaskier spluttered. “Come back! What’s that meant to mean? Get back here and explain yourself!”

“Jaskier if you keep shouting at him you’re going to end up cursed into a lark or some nonsense.” Geralt said, lowering his sword and pulling Jaskier back.

“You heard what he said!” Jaskier said hotly, looking up at him. To Geralt’s dismay there were the beginnings of tears in the bard’s eyes. “You’re not really uncursed after all! What if he did that just because I brought the idea to his mind? What if it’s my fault that-”

Geralt silenced him with a kiss, gently taking hold of Jaskier’s arm until he settled.

“I don’t think that was something new he added just now,” Geralt said gently, still marveling at being able to use words to comfort Jaskier. “I expect it was already there without us knowing and he just has a flare for drama. Like you.”

“Don’t compare me with that thing!” Jaskier huffed. “If you’re still cursed then-”

“It’s not much of a curse when I’m with you.” Geralt said.

“You’re telling me you didn’t mind being a wolf?” Jaskier said skeptically.

“I’m telling you that we already know how to fix it.” Geralt said, holding his medallion and looking at the innocently glinting sliver surface. “I never take it off anyway, it won’t make much of a difference to me if I’ll be a wolf again without it.”

“You really didn’t mind it that much?” Jaskier asked, his mouth quirking into a smile. “Because you were with me?”

“I’ve never been able to enjoy life as simply as I did when I was only your wolf, it might be nice to revisit sometimes.” Geralt said. “As long as you were willing to look out for me again and keep the medallion safe for me I don’t think I’d mind at all.”

“As long as you do realize I’m not going to give you a bit of slack for misbehaving as a wolf now that I know it’s really you.” Jaskier teased. His eyes widened. “Hang on, you chewed apart one of my favorite boots last month! Geralt, that was expensive leather! Was there a dangerous snake inside it or something?”

“Ah…yes. Definitely. Had to protect you from the, uh, the snake.” Geralt lied, keeping his face as unguilty as possible, remembering how bored he’d been after two days without much exercise and Jaskier’s boots lying beside him on the floor. “I promise I’ll buy you a new pair as soon as I’ve taken a few contracts.”

“Well, I suppose that’s alright then, as long as you don’t do it again.” Jaskier said. He looked at the medallion at Geralt’s chest, eyeing it a bit warily. “So…do you want to test it?”

“No, not tonight. I’m still adjusting to having two legs again.” Geralt said with a yawn. He pulled Jaskier into a hug, nuzzling at his neck. “And besides, I like being the one to hold _you_ for a change.”

“Well, I certainly won’t argue with that.” Jaskier said, kissing Geralt’s forehead. “I’m still going to write that song though, although I might have to be a bit more careful with the details now that I know the story isn’t ended yet.”

“I’d say it’s only just begun.” Geralt said, smiling at Jaskier’s delighted yelp as he swept the bard up into his arms to carry him back to their campfire. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Your comments and kudos have been excellent. I don't have anything else specifically in mind for the witcher wolf series, but if you have an idea you're itching to see realized or discussed (during the time Geralt is cursed or even after they figure out the medallion's trick) feel free to drop me an ask over on my tumblr @im-fairly-whitty and I just might take the bait. I also write, reblog and draw the boys on the daily, so come on over and join the party!

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve gotten some excellent prompts from readers and I’ll probably end up writing a couple small extra scenes for the series in the coming weeks. :)
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr too where I write and reblog and draw the boys on the daily! @im-fairly-whitty


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